Page 37 of Autumn on My Mind

3. Secrecy

4. Cordiality

5. Don’t go to Dom’s house unannounced

I scoff at this last one, because I would never.

A little huff of laughter sounds from next to me, so familiar and beloved that I freeze, my head swiveling to look at Dominic a millisecond later.

A tiny smile is playing at his lips. When his eyes meet mine, though, it disappears, and he clears his throat, his gaze dropping back to the pad of paper.

“What was that?” I say.

He clears his throat again and points to my list. “Nothing. Let’s plan.”

“Are you laughing at me?”

Now he rolls his eyes. “Of course not.”

“What do you mean, of course? You’ve laughed at me before.”

“I wasn’t,” he insists. He reaches up to adjust a baseball cap that he’s not wearing; I’ve seen the motion hundreds of times, and his hand falls awkwardly back to his lap before he speaks again. “Your handwriting is still bad.” It’s more of a grunt than words. “That’s all.”

And despite the blustering wind and the fading sun, my cheeks heat. “We said no talking about the past.”

“I tried to move on,” he points out, his posture easing as he shrugs. “You kept asking.” Then he reaches over and taps the notepad on my lap. “Come on. We don’t have all night.”

“Are you sure you’ll be able to read my bad handwriting?” I say.

But he snorts. “Plan. We need a plan.”

“I do have some thoughts,” I say. “For Alvina’s side of things, anyway.”

“I’m listening.”

“Right, okay. So.” I scoot to face Dominic better. “The number one thing she hates is nagging. Oh, no,” I say quickly when I see his raised eyebrows. “No, she loves doing the nagging”—he nods, understanding back in place—“but she doesn’t like being nagged, especially about very valid things. She’s not interested in changing her ways.”

Possibly because of his new promise of cordiality, all he does is hum rather than give a verbal reply. He runs one hand thoughtfully over his scruff, his eyes growing distant. Then, after a second, he nods.

“My dad’s a rule follower,” he says. “And he thinks things should be done a certain way—a proper way. If he knew about Alvina’s drinking, it would probably be a turn-off.” He pauses and then shoots me a hesitant look. “Would you call her alcoholic, specifically, or…?”

“It’s hard to tell,” I admit. “She drinks a lot, but she functions well in most respects. Her dysfunction comes from her—her personality, I guess.”

He stares at me.

“Yeah,” I say, hearing everything he’s not saying. I don’t let my shoulders curl in, but I don’t let myself defend her, either, even though that’s my first instinct. “It’s not great. I wonder if we could set something up so that Daryl thinks he’s helping her. She would hate that.”

“You could talk to him.” Dominic scuffs the toe of his boot over the straw-strewn gravel and dirt, causing the swing to sway and the chains to squeak. “It would require some bending of the truth.”

I take a deep breath and say the most honest thing I’ll say all day: “I’m not sure you could comprehend how much I’ve lied for my mother. If this is what it takes, I’ll bend the truth.”

Dominic is quiet for a second. Then he says simply, “All right. What would that look like?”

And I’m almost disappointed with myself for how quickly the answer comes. “It would probably need to come from me, and I’d basically tell him that Alvina doesn’t like to talk about it because she’s embarrassed, but she’s trying to cut back on her drinking, so he should help encourage her.” I pause as one major problem occurs to me. “Of course…”

“Yeah,” Dom says grimly. “He would take that seriously, and I don’t want to make him feel like her sobriety is his responsibility.”

“Right,” I say with a sigh. “Yeah. Okay, nix that.”